


We Were Good

by startrekkingaroundasgard



Series: 31 Days of Ficmas 2020 [31]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, Bad Decisions, Crash Landing, Crying, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ex Sex, Exes, F/M, Gen, Guilt, Injury, Lies, Multi, New Year's Eve, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Reunions, Ronin Clint Barton, Sad, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:01:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28364346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startrekkingaroundasgard/pseuds/startrekkingaroundasgard
Summary: Clint and the reader were together before Thanos but the reader was dusted in the snap. When they returned, they learned of what Clint did as Ronin and leave him to explore the universe with the Guardians. A party invitation brings them back to Earth for an emotional night with Clint.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Reader
Series: 31 Days of Ficmas 2020 [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2035468
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	We Were Good

You gripped the arm rest, uttering a silent prayer as you steadied yourself amid the jolting. Every bulkhead on the Milano rattled to within an inch of its life, a thundering reminder of your delicate situation. It had been a rough year after the defeat of Thanos – the cosmos had seen a sharp rise in interplanetary wars and rebellions as civilisations tried to cope with the reappearance of billions – and, having mediated disputed by putting yourself directly in the middle to take fire, the ship was in desperate need of upgrades and repairs.

With the last of your duct tape, you hurriedly strapped a cargo net back into place before moving on to a series of shattered screens in order to check the readings. All but one were flashing red. “Rocket, engine two is leaking fuel!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll fix it when we land.”

“If we land,” you grumbled.

Beside you, thick roots twisted around the base of Groot’s chair as he firmly secured himself. Usually he loved re-entry. The bright lights and sparkling flames that danced across the heat shields mesmerised him, pulled him out of his perpetual teenage grump in a way little else could. Today, though, not even Mantis’s powers could relieve his tension. She curled up in his lap, her antenna glowing in a shaky attempt to ease both of their fear, and in return Groot’s branches circled around her like a protective cage.

You stumbled against the branches as the Milano jolted again. The rough surface tore up the palms of your hands as you steadied yourself but it was the least of your worries. Quick to hide the damage, you shoved them into your pockets and pressed a kiss onto Groot’s leafy head. “It’s okay, bud. Just hold on tight.”

An ominous creaking drew you down the ship. You snatched the fire suppressant from under the hot plates and jogged towards it, barely keeping your balance as Quill and Rocket fought with re-entry. Thor and Drax stumbled up just as the metal began to bow behind you. They sprayed the joints with an emergency sealant and slammed their fists against the surface to lock it back into place.

“Move.” Nebula, appearing from below decks, shoved the three of you towards the front of the ship as Gamora erected a forcefield to separate the sections. A burst of bright orange flames hit the shield, the intense heat almost enough to burn through the flickering barrier. “Engine one is leaking fuel.”

“So is engine two.”

“We shall land in a glorious flame!” Drax pronounced.

She shot him the sharpest of looks. Even Thor took a step back. You all stumbled back into the cockpit and tied yourself down into whatever space was available. Wires sparked overhead. Rocket and Quill were screaming at each other. Mantis was weeping. You just closed your eyes and counted backwards from ten, the gap between each number stretching longer than the one before, until you were holding an impossibly long breath, caught in a moment of time.

The Milano shuddered again as it hit the ground, jolting and groaning as the resistance of the earth finally slowed it to a stop. Every system on the ship was beeping and flashing, a million alarms and warnings continuing around you but they fell into silence as you exhaled in relief. Still alive. It was a bloody miracle.

Thor was the first to move. He unwrapped the sparking wires from his wrists and immediately tended to Groot and Mantis to check that they were both okay. The rest of you put out the fires as Rocket cut a hole in the cockpit to act as a door (the main entrance point in the cargo hold was currently housing a fiery inferno and no one was immensely keen to face that).

By the time you rolled out of the ship, burning your hand on the metal shell in the process, an arrival party was on the green to meet you. As you stared at them in their fancy dresses and immaculate suits, you suddenly felt incredibly underdressed.

Thor, on the other hand, had no such shame. He strode forward and pulled Bruce into a tight embrace. Bruce, still green, you noted, was stiff for a moment before he melted into the other man’s hug. “My friend! It has been too long!”

They linked thick arms and all but skipped towards the Compound, the imposing building little more than flickering lights in the darkness. Groot and Mantis followed suit, happily dancing through the night as if they hadn’t almost just died. You envied their innocence at times. Both had faced some of the worst that this universe had to offer and yet they could still switch it all off and have a great time. It was never that easy for you.

The rest of the crew soon followed suit and greeted the Avengers with polite smiles and heavy handshakes. Quill slapped Rhodey on the back and thanked him for the invite to the party, pointedly ignoring Rhodes’ less than enthusiastic response of, “We had hoped it’d get lost in the mail.”

Nebula and Gamora shot despairing glances at the Milano before following the others back to base. You, however, hung behind a moment, caught between your new and old homes. No one had been okay after Thanos but your heart had perhaps suffered more than most. Leaving the Avengers behind had been one of the hardest decisions you’d ever made and you had known from the first moment that the invitation arrived that this return wasn’t going to be easy.

It was the cold winter chill that convinced you to move, in the end. You jogged towards the Compound and crept in through a side door that practically no one ever used. Except, it seemed, for today. There, on the edges of the party, a large drink in hand, weighed down by a tired expression, was the very man you had rather been hoping to avoid. Clint Barton.

His glass shattered on the ground. He didn’t bother to try and pick up the pieces. Instead, he kicked the largest shards aside and grumbled, “I thought you were in space.”

“I was.” You shoved your hands under your armpits and bounced on your heels. If Clint got the hint that you were feeling the cold, he did nothing about it. How things had changed between you. Making no effort to hide your glances at the door, you clicked your tongue against your teeth and said, “Well. It was good to see you, Clint.”

He reached for you as you passed but your fingers passed through his like the final grains of sand in an hourglass. It was easy to lose him after that. You’d learned long ago how to disappear into a crowd. Hell, he’d been the one to teach him but where Clint Barton stood out everywhere he went you were so plainly normal that you might as well have been invisible.

The Compound’s living area was off bounds to most party guests but your access code still worked. The door opened and you slipped down the hallway to your old room. Nothing had changed. The door hinges still creaked as you pushed it open. The carpet was still stained with purple splatters of paint from when you and Clint had attempted to redecorate all those years ago. Your bow and arrows were up against the wall where you’d abandoned them.

Plucking an arrow from the quiver, you twirled it between your fingers as you paced the room, calming yourself. The gravity was stronger than on the Milano and it wasn’t long before your muscles ached from the effort. You fell onto the mattress and stared up at the burnt patch on the ceiling, a smile playing on your face as you recalled how it came to be. You’d once held those joyous memories with Clint so dearly. Now they were all tainted with darkness.

“FRIDAY?”

“I’m here. Welcome back to the Compound. How can I help you?”

You smiled at the familiar voice. Even after months aboard the Milano you still spoke to the ship expecting a reply so it ignited a warmth in your chest to finally be acknowledged by the ever present intelligence. “I don’t need anything. I just wanted to hear a familiar voice.”

“You spoke with Agent Barton a few moments ago, did you not?”

“Wasn’t much of a conversation, though. Has anything changed since I left, Fri?”

“Weather patterns have become more irregular following the return of the missing population. Many countries have elected new leaders in the year since you left. More inhumans than ever have stepped forward to sign up to the Accords.”

That wasn’t what you were asking and you had a feeling that the AI knew it too. It was stupid but you put on the performance nonetheless; you went over to your cupboard and stared at your more formal clothes, still hung as they had been before everything turned to shit. Fingering a particular favourite of yours, you asked loftily, “And with Agent Barton?”

Naturally, FRIDAY saw straight through your airs. There was almost an underlying laughter to her reply. “I think Agent Barton never truly recovered after your departure from Earth. He quit his role with SHIELD and became quite reclusive at his sister’s farm.”

You hummed thoughtfully, entertaining the lie. No doubt FRIDAY was only saying what she expected you’d want to hear but it did little to soothe the dormant anger in your soul. You both knew that the reality of his reasoning was far harsher.

“I thought I’d find you in here.” When you didn’t respond, didn’t even turn around, Clint sighed, “That was dickish of me back there. I just wasn’t expecting you to come back. At least, not back here.”

“Trust me when I say it wasn’t my choice. I would have stayed on the Milano if it wasn’t, you know, on fire.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“No, you aren’t.” He didn’t try to deny it.

You closed your wardrobe door just hard enough to make a point then took a seat on the edge of your bed. You were relieved that Clint made no move to join you. In the brighter light, you got a proper look at him. He’d grown his hair out again, the strange Mohawk now gone. His tattoos were hidden beneath a pressed shirt and that tatty leather jacket you’d always loved to steal – not even he was stupid enough to wear a tank top in this weather – but one was still visible on his neck. It was new, an aggressively sharp design you neither liked nor understood.

More than that, though, Clint looked tired. It was in his eyes, those sweet blue eyes that had always been bright with laughter, now dark and sunken. It was the way he held himself, tight and withdrawn from the rest of the world, from you. The weight of his actions hung heavily over him, as they well should, and you got a twisted sense of pleasure over the fact that he was suffering as much as you.

It left a hollow feeling in your chest, though, and you suddenly wanted nothing more than to be holding back rebellion in a star system far from here. Fighting off three headed slime creatures from another dimension sounded far less uncomfortable than this conversation.

“What do you want, Clint?”

“Drink?” He downed what was left in the bottle when you shook your head. He dropped the bottle in the bin and began to pace, treading the exact same path you had minutes before. Clint slowed in front of you multiple times, building the courage to actually stop and take a seat, before finally perching over a metre away. “I want to clear the air between us.”

“Why?”

“It’s the end of year. We reflect and apologise and move on. That’s the tradition, isn’t it?”

“I can’t forgive what you did.”

He nodded solemnly. “I know that. But I need to say it anyway. When you were dusted, when you and Laura and the kids died in front of me…”

You shook your head, unable to accept that as justification for his actions. “Everyone lost someone important in the snap, Clint. You were the only one that became a vigilante. You were the only one that killed people in my name. Nothing you say is going to change that.”

Against your better judgement, you didn’t pull away when Clint took your hands in his. He sighed at the bloody, blistered mess on your palms as if it wasn’t something he hadn’t seen a million times before. You had never exactly been careful back on Earth.

From under the bed he pulled your first aid kit and you sat in silence as he plucked the splinters from your flesh. His fingers were rough against your sensitive skin, his familiar grip cradling your wrist. Clint applied a thin layer of cream over your burns, each gentle touch deliberate and carefully placed.

Clint lifted your hands to his lips and placed a soft kiss on your knuckles before allowing your arms to fall back to your sides. You refused meet his gaze. How could you? He knew that this wasn’t fair on you and yet here he was, acting as if there was a single chance in hell that you might actually forgive him, sliding so easily back into the way things had been before the snap.

“I’ve missed you, sugar.”

God, you had missed him too. Some nights, you sat in your bunk on the Milano and cried for how much you missed the man you loved. Stupid, goofy Clint that fought fearlessly by your side and held you in his arms under rainy skies. You’d wanted to spend your life with him. Always a distant dream but one that had become impossible after Thanos.

Mantis tried to help, bless her she did her best, but she only masked the pain. The wounds were too deep to ever properly heal. Sitting there with Clint, you felt them open up again. A vice gripped your heart, squeezed it so hard that you could hardly breathe. Every moment alone with him pushed the dagger of betrayal deeper into your chest, an agonising reminder of what had been, of what he had destroyed, of what you’d left behind.

Emptily, you said, “I should change and head back to the party. They’re probably wondering where I am.”

“They’ll be too busy getting pissed to notice. Stay here with me.”

That precious gap between you vanished as Clint shuffled forward. You pressed your hand to his chest and shook your head weakly. “Don’t.”

“There’s no one else. Only you.”

“Please don’t,” you whispered. “My heart can’t take it, Clint.”

Tears spilled from your eyes as he cupped your cheek. Outside, the fireworks were popping, bright colours sparkled across the dark sky. Your eyes flickered shut as he brushed him thumb over your trembling lips. A shiver ran down your spine at his warm breath against the shell of your ear. The familiar, earthy aftershave hid the sharp smell of alcohol. “One night. We can forget for one night. Go back to how things were. When they were good. We were so good, weren’t we?”

He kissed you softly, tentatively, but that only made it worse. You shoved his shoulders and pushed him back against the mattress. Legs swung either side of his hips, you captured his mouth in a rough kiss, devouring and hungry and desperate. His fingers dug into your thighs, hard enough to bruise as you ground your body against him.

There would be nothing but regret come the morning but in that moment you didn’t care. You pretended that things hadn’t changed and when it became too difficult, when the pain in your heart grew too much, you begged Clint to go harder, deeper, and make you feel something, _anything,_ else.

His gentle touches became rough and possessive. Every kiss was a fight for dominance, each thrust a desperate attempt to forget until you sagged against one another, sweaty and exhausted and spent. You laid there in his arms, your head against his chest, stiff and silent as the party continued to rage downstairs.

There were no more tears to cry. No sadness left to drown in. You were numb. Cold and empty, adrift in the dark.

Outside, another wave of fireworks went off. Bigger, brighter than the earlier ones, the dazzling colours illuminated your dark room. The unmistakable melody of Auld Lang Syne drifted in from somewhere.

Clint hesitated then put two fingers under your chin, lifting your face to his. He pressed a light kiss to the corner of your mouth and, unable to meet your eyes, muttered, “Happy new year.”

“Yeah. Happy new year, Clint.”


End file.
